


drag the lake and bring me home again

by Volavi



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Alien Invasion, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Anxiety Disorder, Canon-Typical Violence, Dick isn't coping well after the alien invasion, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Jason doesn't know why, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, or how to help
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-12 22:03:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13556490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Volavi/pseuds/Volavi
Summary: Jason hadn’t been at the battle, had been on the other side of the world, and the thought that maybe he’s arrived too late curdles in his stomach. Jason decides to contact B. He’s not radioing B for help, he’s not, he just needs Bruce to know.Maybe he needs Bruce to feel just as desperate as Jason does right now.“Nightwing isn’t here. Got any other bright ideas?”“Hold on.”Bruce is silent and Jason guesses that he’s pulling up casualty lists and battle reports. Jason tries to stand still and wait, but his skin is buzzing under his armor, little shocks of static, involuntary muscle twitches, and he just has to move. Is this how Dick feels all of the time?





	drag the lake and bring me home again

**Author's Note:**

> Please see the end notes for trigger warnings. 
> 
> Thanks to Leap_of_Faith for the beta. You're amazing!
> 
> Fic title comes from "Drown" by Bring Me the Horizon.
> 
> Set in a mixture of the Young Justice cartoon and comics canon - as usual I'm working with my favorite parts and ignoring what I don't like, but mainly staying with pre-new 52.

Jason is on the other side of the world when he is summoned to help repel an alien invasion, along with every hero that has even the loosest association with the JLA. He finishes his mission as quickly as possible, knowing Dick will be one of the first on scene, but by the time Jason arrives, the fighting is basically over, the Earth once again victorious.

Jason meets up with Batman and some of the other bats, but Dick isn’t with them. Replacement tells Jason that Dick had been mainly fighting with the team, with minimal contact with the Gotham heroes.

Jason finds Roy and Wally next, and when they look at him with wide eyes and confess that they haven’t seen Nightwing since the second alien wave, Jason feels very small, like he’s suddenly shrunk, and instead of being within arm’s reach, Roy is fifty miles away, talking to him in words that he can’t hear.

Red Hood checks the first aid area and field hospital first, because Nightwing isn’t answering his comm, and no one can say for sure when the last time was that they even saw him. It isn’t like Dick to not answer, and even if his comm is broken someone should have seen him. The only logical explanation is that he’s hurt.

That is the only possible explanation.

The aliens chose a small city in Colorado, between Denver and the Wyoming border. Jason doesn’t know why - doesn’t really care - if it had just been a random target, or the first thing the aliens saw, because he can’t figure out what kind of strategic significance this place could possibly have. Had the aliens been after NORAD and the Air Force Academy and were just 100 miles off? Whatever the reason, the city of Spring Valley hadn’t been close to prepared.

And the pictures from history class, of cots and dust, can’t prepare Jason for this. Jason sees stretchers laid out in military rows across the manufactured verdancy of artificial turf, perfect and jarring against the faded brown of the real grass, the first aid tent set up next to a soccer goal, and it hits Jason again that this is just some random town in flyover country, America. The Justice League has the first aid area in the suburbs, close but not too close to the devastated city, and it makes sense that it’s here, because the athletic fields are nice and flat for the helicopters to land, but there’s a playground just to the left. The swings hang empty and still, and the sight makes Jason shudder.

Jason walks through the rows, thinking that if Dick is here, he shouldn’t be too hard to spot, but Jason just sees soldiers, and firefighters, and police officers, and even some heroes. Most are unconscious, but some reach out to Jason, and it hurts him to keep walking, but he can’t stay. After checking the first soccer field, Jason thinks that he should move to the civilian fields, just in case someone moved Nightwing there by mistake, but he’s not sure he can handle it. Most of the population had been evacuated before the aliens arrived, but not everyone made it out in time. Otherwise there wouldn’t be a need at all for an area for civilians.

The park is to the west of the small city, and for a moment Jason turns his back to everything and looks at the mountains. It’s one of those cool, crisp Autumn days when there isn’t a cloud in the sky, and with the smoke to his back the front range of the Rockies looks impossibly close, vivid and detailed, stretching along the horizon. The mountains are an inscrutable aegean blue, the tops of the taller ones cloaked in white, the exact shade of the darker blue flecks in Dick’s sky blue eyes. Green and gold stretch towards the blue, rolling hills, chiaroscuro of red and yellow leaves, brown granite foothills rising to the watercolor folds of the peaks. It’s a chthonic and ancient beauty, different that the Gotham cityscape, or even the Atlantic ocean, but not a view that he would want to see every day; it makes him feel too small.

Jason hadn’t been at the battle, had been on the other side of the world, and the thought that maybe he’s arrived too late curdles in his stomach. Jason decides to contact B. He’s not radioing B for help, he’s not, he just needs Bruce to know.

Maybe he needs Bruce to feel just as desperate as Jason does right now.

“Nightwing isn’t here. Got any other bright ideas?”

“Hold on.”

Bruce is silent and Jason guesses that he’s pulling up casualty lists and battle reports. Jason tries to stand still and wait, but his skin is buzzing under his armor, little shocks of static, involuntary muscle twitches, and he just has to move. Is this how Dick feels all of the time?

Jason heads back towards his bike and returns to the remains of the city. Few of the buildings taller than a couple of stories are still standing, and already search and rescue teams are moving through the rubble.

“Red Hood!” Jason hears on his comm and from the strain and exasperation in Batman’s voice, he’s been trying to get Jason’s attention for a while.

“What?” Jason snarls.

“There are still pockets of fighting in three locations. Nightwing may be involved. I’m sending you the coordinates. You go to the one you’re the closest to, and I’ll go the second. We’ll meet up at the last one if we haven’t found him by then.”

It’s actually good news, the best news Jason has heard all day. It’s not proof that Dick is okay, but if he’s not injured, and he’s not helping the victims, fighting makes the most sense. If there are still bad guys to be taken down, and Dick is conscious, that’s what Dick will be doing, definitely.

Jason divides his attention between the heads up display on his motorcycle with the map to the coordinates and looking around the ravaged city. Dust and smoke shroud tumbled buildings, diffusing the bright autumn sun into a hazy twilight, and Jason has to dodge debris and craters pockmarking the two lane road. A car alarm blares from an overturned car, while farther away multiple sirens sound in stereo.

Out of the corner of his eye, a flash of electric blue against black, surrounded by bricks. Jason jumps off the bike so fast he nearly wrecks it, runs to the stylized bird pattern he knows so well, and his heart is in his throat until he sees that it’s a Nightwing hoodie. Abandoned, whoever wore it long gone. Jason gets back on his motorcycle with hands that are not shaking only because they don’t feel connected to his body any more.

The location that Batman has directed Jason to is a large parking garage next to a hospital, the kind with multiple floors both above and below ground. Jason hears sounds of battle from the top floors and underground, and he goes down first because if Dick is underground, that might explain not being able to reach him by GPS or comm.

Jason dismounts the bike again, draws his guns, and creeps down the ramp. He peers between levels as he spirals down, his helmet adjusting into night vision as the light level fades. Just before the lowest floor, he sees Nightwing surrounded by three aliens that look like giant walking crustaceans. He’s holding his own, still, but Jason sees exhaustion in every move. He fires until they’re down.

Dick doesn’t even react to the sudden cessation of fighting. He kicks and beats the bodies, and shit, somehow this is personal. Jason doesn’t know what’s happened, or why, but today’s fight has burrowed under Dick’s skin.

He rushes to close the distance between them. “Nightwing!” he yells as he runs, but Dick barely twitches.

“You’re done.” Jason catches his lover’s still-flailing wrists, and pins them. Not gently, but not hurtful either. Steadying. Unshaken. “You’ve done enough. You’re done.”

“I can do more.”

“You’re about to fall over where you stand.” Jason fumbles with the catch of his helmet and pulls it off one-handed, so he can meet Dick’s eyes. “It’s _enough.”_

He pulls Dick in close, burying his nose in his hair. “Let’s go home.”  


***

Jason helps Dick undress, and it’s not sensual but more of a benediction as he unzips the suit and peels it slowly down shoulders sloped with exhaustion and something else, easing past the bruised ribs and narrow hips, until Dick is stepping up, leaning against Jason for balance, legs ungainly as a foal’s. Jason coaxes Dick in to the shower, where white suds wage their own battle against the soot and blood. The scars from fifteen years of crime fighting show through the marks of today’s battle like a palimpsest of previous victories and defeats. The water runs grey and red for too long, until Jay can finally see Dick’s own skin.

Jason turns the water off, then dries Dick with fluffy towels, while Dick remains nearly catatonic with fatigue and . . . sorrow? Jason patches Dick up, none of the wounds individually very serious, though with the accumulation Dick would be sore for a while.

By the time Jason helps Dick get dressed in soft joggers and his favorite faded Bludhaven Police Department tee, Dick is with it enough to make brief eye contact and offer a small smile of gratitude, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. When Jason zips up his own favorite hoodie around Dick, the one that Dick constantly tries to steal, his eyes light up just enough for Jason to know that Dick noticed.

“Bed or couch?” Jason asks, knowing that Dick’s current mood will make it impossible for him to sleep unless he wants to.

“Couch.”

Jason nods, unsurprised, and leads Dick to the living room. Piles him with furry, fluffy blankets. Brings him tea, and water, and a snack. Nothing gets much of a reaction from Dick. Jason is almost desperate enough to call Damian to come over and ask to cuddle, because nothing can stop Dick from giving Damian a snuggle if Damian himself asks for it. The man would drag himself through the gates of Hades to hug Damian if Damian so much as hinted that he might like one.

“What do you want for dinner? I could make curry, or french onion soup, or that chicken paprikash recipe you said reminded you of Haley’s . . . .” Jason’s voice trails off when nothing gets much of a reaction from Dick. He decides to start the soup, which he can freeze if they don’t end up eating it, and it’s a good excuse to make some bread. Maybe Jason can beat the shit out of some dough - what other people called “kneading” - and somehow think of something to say or do that will actually help Dick.

Jason flicks the television on for Dick, selects an old rerun of “Murder She Wrote” and drops a kiss onto Dick’s forehead. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.” Jason waits until Dick gives a little nod of acknowledgment and then retreats into the other room.

Halfway through getting all of his ingredients out, Jason gets a sudden urge to text the team.

_What the fuck happened out there?_

The replies come back quickly but noone has any useful information. Nothing that would explain Dick’s odd behaviour. It had just been a fight. Sure, civilians were involved, but nothing unusually horrific for heroes had occurred. Not that anyone had seen.

Over the course of the rest of the day, Dick relaxes, evens out. He refuses to go into much detail about the giant lobster/crawdad/shrimp aliens or what exactly happened out there, but by the time the french onion soup is done, he is able to compliment Jason on the bread, make a joke about how much he loves gruyere cheese, and then another joke about his jokes being cheesy, and Jason thinks that Dick is going to be okay.

Jason insists that Dick rest, and he patrols Bludhaven instead, and the next morning, when Dick is shrugging into his uniform dress shirt and Jason gropes his ass as a way of saying goodbye, and Dick rolls his eyes but doesn’t move away, and pushes onto his toes to kiss Jason’s cheek, all while still buttoning his shirt, Jason isn’t too worried about the fact that he probably won’t see Dick for almost a week. Dick seems so much better now, and he can take care of himself.  


*****  


Flick. Flick. Flick.

Everything that Dick needs to do and hasn’t finished yet - sometimes hasn’t even started yet - flicks through his head, like the tabs of an old-fashioned Rolodex flipping fast.

He needs to text Gannon to see if they can switch shifts.

Damian is spending the weekend, so Dick needs to prep the guest room.

DIck hasn’t finished writing up the reports on last night’s patrol.

Or the previous night.

Or the night before.

Grocery shopping. Needs to get that done before Dami shows up.

Flick. Flick. Flick.

The never-ending list continues to tick through his head.

He promised Steph that he’d work with her on triple flips. He should schedule that with her soon or she’ll feel abandoned.

Dick hasn’t heard from Tim in a few days, so it’s essential that Dick reach out today to check in.

At least there’s the date with Jason to look forward to. The Rolodex pauses and Dick savors a moment of calm as he remembers how well the last date had gone. Their status as “boyfriends” is still new, a fragile, tender thing, and this whole actually going on dates out in public is even newer. Jason had planned the last date, and it had been lovely, so now it’s Dick’s turn.

Jason and Dick have been hooking up for over a year now, that slowly evolved to spending time together out of bed, but the dating part is still pretty new. Jason still lives in Gotham, and Dick in Bludhaven, so they have to make a scheduled effort to spend time together out of costume and out of the house.

(Dick had raised an eyebrow at Jason the tenth or so time that Jason had not only stayed over, but cooked breakfast. “So, boyfriends actually go on dates. Like, out of the house. Wearing clothes.” Jason had turned a jaw dropped in surprise into a smirk. “You offering to wine and dine me?” Dick had laughed. “Something like that - though I was thinking a football game and beer first.” That had been six weeks before the alien attack in Colorado.)

What will they do? Where should they go? Dick is thinking of going bowling. What will Dick wear? Does Jason like bowling? Will he think it’s fun or just a really stupid idea? Do people even still go bowling? Maybe they can play pool. Dick knows that Jason likes pool. But Dick can’t think of a single pool hall in Bludhaven that isn’t a front for some kind of illegal activity. And this is supposed to be a break from their night jobs - and in Dick’s case, his day job too - so what if something happens?

Dick scrubs his hands over his face and sits up. The clock on his nightstand reads “4:18” but Dick knows he won’t be getting to sleep tonight. When he’d managed to return home from patrol at 3, he had brief hopes of getting a solid four hours of sleep before the alarm went off for his day shift. Futile hopes, as it turned out. Since he is awake, he might as well start on the patrol reports before he gets growled at by the bat.

 

*******************

 

Jason has never been bowling. Seen it on tv, is aware that it is a thing that exists, but it has never been something that registers as a fun thing to actually try. Still, it is Dick’s turn to the plan the date, and Jason doesn’t want to be the jerk that ruins a date by being a stick in the mud about the plan.

Bowling turns out much better than Jason expects. The place is designed more like a high-end nightclub than the dated 80s furnishings and harsh lights Jason had expected, and the music is a mix of modern and classic rock. Not bad at all. Even better, the pizza is more than decent and they have twenty different beers on tap. Having Dick pressed up against him to show him how to roll the ball is a nice added bonus.

Jason may have never bowled before, but he’s athletic, coordinated and has excellent aim, so he doesn’t embarrass himself. Dick wins the first round, and talks a big game as they start the second.

Then Dick freezes and grabs Jason’s arm. “Do you mind if we just . . . leave?”

“What? We’ve barely started the second game. You’re afraid that you’re not going to win?”

“No! No, not that. It’s just . . . I sprained my wrist a couple of days ago. It wasn’t bothering me earlier but I must have twisted funny on that last throw.”

“Why didn’t you say anything earlier? We could have rescheduled or something.”

“I didn’t think it would be a problem. And it was fine until that last ball.”

Jason gently takes Dick’s right hand and inspects the wrist. There is some discoloration and inflammation, but nothing serious. The kind of injury all of them get at least a dozen times a year on various joints and just work through. It’s possible that the wrist has been sprained - probable, given their lifestyles - but it looks older than just a couple of days. Why is Dick lying to him?

“Look, if you weren’t having fun, you could just say something. You don’t have to lie to try to spare my feelings or whatever you think you’re doing.”

Dick flushes. “I _was_ having fun, but . . .”

“But you’re not any more,” Jason cuts him off before he can finish. “Fine. I can take a hint. I’ll just head back to Gotham.”

“Wait!” Dick looks as panicked as Jason has ever seen him - dilated eyes, racing heart - and he’s seen Dick in multiple life or death situations.

Jason raises an eyebrow, signalling that he is waiting for whatever bull crap explanation Dick is going to try to trot out.

Dick sighs, and rubs the back of his neck, and his eyes flick from exit to exit. Dick’s nervous, Jason suddenly realizes.

“Look, I just think that we need to get out of here. I know it’s . . . silly, but we both need to leave.”

“What? If you think that something is going down here tonight, shouldn’t we stay? Isn’t that kind of what we do?”

“No! Definitely not. Us staying would be worse. Trust me. We need to go.”

Jason looks at the neutral mask not quite hiding the genuine panic on Dick’s face, studies him for a moment, and shrugs. “Whatever, Goldie. We can leave now if that’s what you want.”

Dick immediately relaxes and exhales. “Okay. Thanks.”

“Are you going to tell me what this is about?” Jason asks as he shrugs into his jacket.

Dick glances at Jason out of the corner of his eye. “I don’t know, exactly.” Dick shrugs and turns away.

Jason just shakes his head. “Let’s go back to your place, maybe stop by 7/11 and grab some ice cream on the way. Sound good?”

Dick nods gratefully and plasters on a smile. “Perfect.”

 

*********************

Dick wakes up from another nightmare.

Nightmares aren’t unusual, in his line of work. Even if he’d never become a vigilante, Dick knew he’d still have nightmares about that night. Still, he has to acknowledge the noticeable uptick in nightmares of his parents’ deaths recently. During the day, too. Sometimes he can’t stop his brain from playing that scene over and over even when he is awake.

Not just the fall, if Dick is being honest with himself. Other traumatic situations, even ones that he thought he’s dealt with and gotten over, have begun to intrude on his day to day life and his dreams. Nightmares that he hasn’t had in years, Blockbuster and Tarantula, Donna’s death, Two Face's twisted choice, the Joker’s bloody grin and his nose cracking under Dick’s fist.

He can’t stop them, any more than he’d been able to logic his way out of the feeling of impending doom in the bowling alley. He’d fully expected Jason to laugh derisively, or react with anger when he discovered Dick’s pathetic lie, but Jason hadn’t done either. He hadn’t even pushed Dick to properly explain, which was a miracle. Jason is perceptive - maybe he had an idea of what had been going through Dick’s head. Jason has his own shit, after all. He’d been willing to give Dick a pass on his odd behaviour on the date.

Or maybe Dick is fooling himself. Maybe Jason had texted Roy, afterwards, joking about how Dick had spent too much time around Batman and had picked up an unreasonable amount of bat-paranoia. Or called Kory to bitch about the flake known as Dick Grayson.

Dick paces around his apartment. If he can’t sleep, and there’s no need for Nightwing at 5 in the morning, he should maybe try to do something productive. It’s a reasonable enough time to hit the gym. Satisfied with his plan, Dick changes out of his pajamas and is flying on the horizontal bar fifteen minutes later.

**********************

After a short patrol, just enough to hit the known hot-spots, Jason leaves Gotham for his Bludhaven safe house closest to Dick’s apartment, takes a quick shower, changes into civvies and heads over to Dick’s place, taking the stairs like a non-vigilante. When he arrives, he sees the large circles under Dick’s azure eyes.

“Christ, Goldie, when is the last time that you slept?” Jason asks.

“None of us get enough sleep,” Dick says, leaning in close to Jason, mouth inches away from Jason’s neck. His breath whispers warm and soft again Jason’s skin. “But I could be persuaded to head to bed.”

Dick catches the hem of Jason’s tee shirt and trails his fingers along Jason’s stomach, and Jason’s breath hitches against his will. Dick’s hand slides higher, moving between Jason’s skin and the thin cotton, until it is high enough for Dick’s thumb to ghost across a nipple. Dick’s other arm reaches up to grab the back of Jason’s skull, pulling him down into a rough kiss. Dick’s fingers curl into the short hair in the nape of his neck, and Dick’s blunt nails scraping against that sensitive skin is a revelation.

Dick pulls at the collar of Jason’s leather jacket, and Jason takes the hint to shrug out of it. Unencumbered, he returns Dick’s embrace, leans into the kiss, forcing Dick’s head back, opening up his long neck. Jason wraps one hand around Dick’s neck, brushes over the pulse point with calloused fingers, thumb tracing along the shape of his jaw.

The next morning, Jason wakes up alone, to a cold bed. He follows the sounds of a t.v. playing quietly to see Dick curled up on the couch, burritoed in blankets, watching a nature show narrated by David Attenborough. Something about Africa.

“Shift over,” Jason says and drops next to Dick on the couch. He thinks that he should probably start making breakfast, but it looks like Dick has already had at least one bowl of cereal and Jason isn’t hungry yet. Hanging on the couch for a while and then maybe frying up some eggs later sounds like a good plan. Jason doesn’t have to be back in Gotham until patrol, so they have time for a lazy afternoon and maybe even dinner.

Dick lifts his legs long enough for Jason to sit down before dropping them on top of Jason’s lap. Jason rolls his eyes but idly starts to rub one of Dick’s calves. Jason’s not the animal documentary fan that Dick is though, so he soon pulls out his phone to keep reading _The God of Small Things._ The prose that’s so beautiful that it’s almost like poetry is absorbing, so he doesn’t notice when the show takes a turn towards the serious.

He does notice when Dick’s feet jerk off of Jason’s lap. Jason just has time to register the small body of a baby elephant, motionless, before the camera zooms to the mother’s face and Dick whacks the power button on the remote with far too much force. His hands shake as he stands up and drops the remote. Jason can’t quite decipher the emotion on Dick’s face - tension, grief, maybe rage - and Dick storms to the kitchen.

He flings open the fridge doors and bangs around for a minute. He flings a gallon of milk onto the counter with too much force, followed by cheese, mushrooms, a jar of olives, mayonnaise and ketchup.

“Where are the goddamn eggs?”

Jason heads slowly into the kitchen. He’s not afraid of Dick’s legendary temper, but this seems extreme even for Dick. Lashing out with calculated viciousness when pushed to the brink in extreme circumstances, usually after a period of days, more likely even weeks of high stress, yes. Swearing at his fridge after a lazy morning of tv, no. Jason eases himself past Dick and uses his longer reach to snag the carton of eggs, hidden under a couple of packets of lunch meat.

“How about I make some omelettes?” Jason offers, allowing just a hint of tenderness to show in his voice that he normally only shows to small, scared children. Or very rarely Dick, but only when he thought Dick is asleep or unconscious. “I’ll prep everything and let you whisk the hell outta the eggs, okay?”

The attempt at humor falls flat, but at least it prompts Dick to finally look at Jason, meeting his eyes with a grim mouth and eyes like banked embers. “You don’t need to speak to me like I’m a kindergartener,” he replies in a measured voice.

“I’m just offering to help with breakfast. You seem a bit worked up.”

“I’m not worked up. I’m just annoyed that I can never find anything in my own fucking fridge!”

Jason steps back at that, his own anger stirring. “Overreacting much?”

“No!” Dick flings over his shoulder as he strides across the kitchen to get a mixing bowl. “It’s really annoying! You keep moving things!”

Heat crawls from Jason’s chest, blooming up from his heart to his face, fire licking his brain. “Well, I’m the only one who ever goes grocery shopping and I don’t even live here. Calm down! You’re acting crazy.”

Dick snorts. “You’re not exactly the model of mental health.” He slams the cupboard door and stalks out of the kitchen. “Forget breakfast. I’m going for a run.”

Before Jason can decide to call out for Dick to stay, chase after him, or yell “don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out,” Dick is gone. The silence in the room feels fragile and empty. Jason scrapes both hands through his hair, the anger draining out, replaced with confusion.  

What is going on with Dick?

Jason has no idea, and even less idea of how to help.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: This fic deals with the aftermath of a battle, as Dick struggles with mental health issues, especially anxiety. I describe his symptoms in some detail, both from his point of view and Jason's. Please take care of your own mental health and don't read if this might exacerbate your own symptoms. There's also a brief description of a baby animal dying on a television show that Dick watches. 
> 
> I have been working on this fic off and on for about six months. I have general anxiety disorder and depression, and drew upon some of my own experiences for this fic. However, I'm not a doctor or therapist, and this isn't meant to a representative or exhaustive portrayal of what anxiety is like for every person in every circumstance, and how Dick tries to deal with everything isn't an example of healthy coping. 
> 
> Part of this fic is from a prompt from @cherrymiko-art on tumblr. 
> 
> What do you think should happen next? Leave a comment with suggestions or yell at me on my tumblr: [volaviwrites](https://volaviwrites.tumblr.com/%20)


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